


Warehouse Disco

by toofastandtoofurious



Category: Cyberpunk Red, Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Amnesia, Body Image, Body Modification, Gen, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:53:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22584364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toofastandtoofurious/pseuds/toofastandtoofurious
Summary: Vang0 is cold, alone, and drugged up against his will in the warehouse when he wakes up, and he feels more like a ghost possessing a body than a person. Isn’t that the biggest joke of them all, a nobody made out of a feeling of a meaning, a vagabond out of circumstance because someone wanted to play god and kill off their broken creations until they got it right - but they must’ve gotten it wrong, this time.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Warehouse Disco

I

This body doesn’t feel real,  
it hangs on my bones like a second-hand  
and ill-  
fitting shirt, something you maybe would steal  
for the fuck of it. There’s no tag of the owner,  
but somehow it remembers. It knows something I don’t  
and it hurts. This body keeps secrets,  
spits acid through its teeth,  
I throw up and receive no message  
at the bottom of the sink.  
It provides no names, no places, no memories,  
no feeling,  
it doesn’t tell me what happened.  
That’s how amnesia works,  
the body stores everything in its bones,  
in its DNA,  
and then locks it away  
if it hurts too much.  
What if I gnaw to my bone marrow  
and bite into the cells?  
What will I find out?

II

The light fractures, morphs and  
changes shapes,  
breaks down  
into shards,  
not unlike glass  
or bones,  
or people.  
People break down,  
and so do you.  
There are shards on the floor  
and the light shining through has a rave on the surface.  
There are disco balls, full of colour,  
they spin and  
roll inward,  
and the concrete floor welcomes you,  
drags you  
into the flickering  
you dip in and out of.  
You lie in the cold light of morning,  
as it dances on your eyelids,  
and there’s nothing  
but angry punches of colour  
you can’t see past.  
Nothing at all.

III

I make myself up until I have a story,  
until lies become truths,  
or maybe I just can’t tell the difference  
between one and another.  
Who’s there to call me out?  
Me, a thief with no witnesses,  
me, a stolen thing with no tracking code?  
Isn’t that the biggest joke of them all,  
a nobody made out of a feeling of a meaning,  
a vagabond out of circumstance  
because someone wanted to play god  
and kill off their broken creations  
until they got it right -  
but they must’ve gotten it wrong, this time.  
My body got possessed by my mind,  
but we’re both stubborn  
so I punch every mirror I see  
until my knuckles crack,  
until I taste iron,  
until I get to the bone  
and then -  
and then -  
and then I bite.

**Author's Note:**

> That's my first work in the fandom, and oh god I love the gang so much. Come talk to me about a Deaf!Burger Chainz and Tragic Backstories(tm) at stupud-poetry on Tumblr!


End file.
